


More than Words

by fhartz91



Series: Klaine One-shots [70]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Harry Potter References, M/M, Ravenclaw!blaine, Romance, slytherin!Kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 07:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12164703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/fhartz91
Summary: Blaine returns to Hogwarts to help prepare the students for hard times ahead, but he also has an ulterior motive - to keep one special Slytherin boy safe.





	More than Words

**Author's Note:**

> This is another re-write, but I made vast changes from the original - notably the mention of the new wizarding schools featured on the Pottermore website.

“Non-verbal spell casting,” Blaine announces, walking between the aisles of students - some watching him intently, others reading the information in the books open in front of them, “requires an extreme amount of concentration to master. Like many of the more complex spell casting techniques, it will tax you emotionally …” He pauses to help a student turn their book to the right page, then moves on “… especially since you will be called upon to use it under duress. But if you can manage it, it will be one in a long list of skills that might give you a leg up. Ensure your victory.” As he talks, strolling the room to give everyone the benefit of his attention, Blaine searches the sea of faces for one special student. He shouldn’t be that hard to find, but then again, there’s about sixty kids attending this lecture. “You’ll need to learn to focus, clear your mind, sharpen your mental acuity, all while fending off one or more attackers.” Blaine turns a full circle. He looks at the eyes staring anxiously at him and smiles sympathetically. “Simple, right?”

A murmured groan travels around the room – one full of self-doubt, hesitation, and fear. Blaine feels for these students. It wasn’t too long ago that he was sitting in those seats, staring blankly at an instructor who said the same thing to him. The only difference is that when Blaine was a seventh year, two short years ago, rumors pertaining to the return of the Dark Lord were just that – _rumors_. These kids will have to deal with the grim reality of war closing in upon them.

Blaine, who’d always had a preternatural knack for casting non-verbal spells, had been invited back to Hogwarts by special request of the headmaster himself. It was a tricky appointment considering the way the Ministry had been behaving with regard to the happenings at Hogwarts. Blaine could just as well have decided to stay at his cushy job with the Ministry. Many wizards and witches invited back to Hogwarts did. But Blaine chose to return and be of service to the school that helped mold him into the wizard he is today.

Besides, he wanted to keep an eye on one student in particular.

One he has always been distinctly fond of.

As his thoughts drift, his eyes fall on a young man occupying the last seat in the farthest left corner of the room. The Slytherin boy’s eyes lift and meet Blaine’s gaze, and Blaine’s worried heart swells with relief.

 _Kurt_.

Blaine nods subtly, and Kurt nods back, but neither one speaks to the other.

“We’ll start off with a spell that should be relatively simple for you guys.”

Kurt watches Blaine pass by, rounding the last desk and walking back to the front of the room. He stops at the desk of a young lady sitting up front. She looks at him and smiles shyly, waiting to see what he’ll do.

“ _Orchideous_.” Blaine points his wand at her desk and moves it in a circle. A bed of shiny green leaves appears, sprouting from thin air, and with them, white roses spring to life, transforming before their eyes from tight bud to blooming flower. The students  _ooo_  and  _aaah_  as the wreath of roses blossoms, scenting the air in the musty old classroom with the comforting aroma of spring.

Blaine lifts the wreath up in both hands and shows it around the room. Then he presents it to the young lady in front of him, who hides her face behind it and giggles, joined by her friends on either side. But in the far corner of the room, Kurt runs a hand through his chestnut hair and rolls his eyes. He stares down at his parchment, lips moving, giving the impression that he’s hard at work on his pronunciation when Blaine knows he’s actually cursing under his breath.

“Okay, class,” Blaine says with a grin for the girls, still giggling, and for Kurt, still cursing, “let’s try to cast it all together now, but without words. On the count of three – one … two … three.”

A lot of dramatic wand waving takes place, which Blaine had expected. It’s a symptom of learning to cast spells in this fashion - take away the voice, and something else tends to overcompensate. A few students forget Blaine’s instructions and start to say the spell out loud, cutting themselves off in the middle. A student in the center of the room mispronounces the spell terribly when he stops it short, and succeeds in producing a tiny orc, about the size of a corgi, which Blaine must then deal with.

But regardless of the numerous attempts and a few more mess ups, not a single student manages a flower.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Blaine calls, waving his hands to put a stop to it. “I’m going to lend you guys a hand, one student at a time …” Blaine feels Kurt’s eyes snap up to his face but doesn’t have the chance to return the look. “But until I get to you, I want you to practice the circular hand movement and visualize the flowers in your head. See if you can’t make me a bouquet before I get to you.” Blaine winks, and most of the girls in class either titter or sigh.

A few of the boys do, too.

Kurt huddles further over his parchment, not amused by Blaine’s flirtatious behavior.

By the end of the lecture, most of the students have been able to produce a passable bunch of flowers; those who don’t, have, at least, come up with a scraggly weed or a mess of dry leaves. Brian Levinworth, eager to materialize a white rose for his most recent crush, conjures one sad, dying petunia, which said crush frowns at before turning her back on him and ignoring him completely. Brian’s rejection tugs at Blaine’s heart, but less so than the fact that Kurt, chewing his lower lip to pieces, has yet to create a single petal.

“Okay, class” - Blaine glances purposefully at his pocket watch - “that’s enough for today. Gather up your flowers, if you have any, and skedaddle.”

Students gravitate towards one another and depart the room in groups – a habit that has increased now more than ever, and speaks of their need to feel safe and secure, even within the fortress that is Hogwarts castle. It forces rivals and friends alike to linger behind so that they don’t have to travel the halls alone.

A tight cluster of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor girls hand Blaine a hodgepodge of their best creations before hurrying out the door.

“Thank you, ladies. Thank you,” Blaine says, putting them to his nose and taking an obliging sniff. “And for those of you who didn’t have much luck, keep trying. Kurt …” Blaine calls over the heads of the students bustling to get to their next classes “… can you hang back a moment, please? I’d like to speak to you.”

No one comments about Blaine’s request, including Kurt. Standing halfway out of his seat, he doesn’t answer. He simply sits back down.

The room doesn’t empty as fast as Blaine would like, but he waits patiently at the front, answering questions and fielding compliments. Kurt remains in his seat, slowly packing his book bag, taking extra care with his quills and using more precision than normal dusting his parchments to help the ink dry. But before long, it’s quiet, and in the big, empty classroom, surrounded by various magical artifacts and aging spell books, Blaine and Kurt are alone for the first time in years.

And Blaine doesn’t know what to say.

“So” - Blaine starts making his way back to Kurt’s desk, glad that he stopped him before he had the chance to get lost in the crowd - “how’s my favorite American transplant doing?”

“Beginning to think that attending a public school in Ohio and staying invisible would have been a better idea than coming all the way out here just to prove that I’m a loser,” Kurt remarks.

“Don’t talk like that,” Blaine says gently, stopping by Kurt’s side and sneaking a glimpse at the parchment spread out on his desk. What Blaine had originally thought was Kurt’s assignment is a letter he’s been writing home. Blaine heaves a heavy sigh. He knows there’s more than self-esteem issues behind Kurt’s inability to produce a bouquet of roses; surprisingly more than the looming fear of being drafted into a battle that he never expected to fight.

It must be torture being an entire world away when your father suffers his first heart attack. That alone has taken a larger toll on Kurt than any army of Death Eaters ever could.

Blaine hated that he himself heard the news from the rumor mill when he arrived before he had the chance to hear it from Kurt.

“You’ve gotten this far,” Blaine continues. “You’re fitting in, you have impeccable grades. It would be a pity to stop now.”

“I have good grades because the teachers don’t want to call on _the frightful American_ ,” Kurt jokes bitterly. “They’re all annoyed that I got sent here instead of Ilvermorny. You know, I don’t think they even check my homework.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve been writing dirty jokes in Latin in the margins” – Kurt shrugs – “and nobody’s called me on it yet.”

Blaine laughs, picturing the faces of their professors – Snape and McGonagall specifically – upon discovering a raunchy limerick hidden within the lines of one of Kurt’s transfiguration essays, or in his translation of an ancient hex. Snape might choose to overlook it considering Kurt’s a member of his house. But McGonagall? She’d have Kurt cleaning cauldrons until he lost all feeling in his fingers.

Or she might invite him to her office for a Butterbeer if the punchline were particularly witty.

Blaine understands what it’s like, being an outsider. He’d known he was a wizard from a young age, like his parents before him. But living in the Philippines and being of mixed heritage, he had always expected to attend Mahoutokoro like his mother, or Castelobruxo like his father. Receiving the owl that would seal his fate and see him shipped off to Scotland was a plot twist he could never have predicted.

But he’s exceedingly glad things worked out the way they did.

“I don’t think that’s it.” Blaine sounds confident, but Kurt doesn’t seem too impressed. “I think that the faculty here is more aware of your abilities than you know.”

“Hmph. I doubt it.”

“How could they not? If I recall correctly, weren’t you the second year who cast a spell that changed the color of the walls and curtains in your dorm room?”

“Dior Grey,” Kurt specifies. “I needed something to break up all the green. It was driving me bonkers.”

“And weren’t you the third year who enchanted the clocks to sing that obscure musical number every hour on the hour?”

Kurt clucks at Blaine in offense. “It’s called  _Some People_ , and it’s hardly obscure.”

“The point is there’s a reason why you’re here,” Blaine says, bumping Kurt’s shoulder. “Those spells were far and beyond your grade level, and you cast them. You’re a natural. If you could perform an effective cloaking spell to hide yourself from bullies long before you knew you were a wizard, then I’m sure a little thing like a non-verbal spell will be no problem for you.”

“I bet you say that to all the students,” Kurt mutters, fussing with his parchment. “At least Camilla Luddington got a wreath of roses.”

Blaine smiles. That might be as close as Kurt’s going to come to saying he missed Blaine any time soon.

Kurt took it hard when Blaine left. That’s what Blaine heard, anyway; Kurt has yet to confirm that rumor. But what Kurt doesn’t know is how much Blaine hated to go and leave him behind. Blaine tried his best to push his feelings for Kurt away. After all, they had their whole lives ahead of them, and considering the track Kurt was on, he was bound to end up at the Ministry himself soon enough. They’d be reunited, and once they were, they could continue where they left off, away from the angst-ridden, emotional, and hormonally charged atmosphere of boarding school.

Then they could find out if they were truly meant to be together.

But this war started, and Blaine realized that he had made a host of wrong decisions.

Leaving Kurt turned out to be his greatest regret.

“I’ll conjure you all the flowers you want …” Blaine circles behind Kurt and whispers in his ear “… but first, try conjuring up some of your own.” He puts his hands on Kurt’s shoulders and squeezes. “Try to picture it,” he says, his voice low and soft, a spell of its own. “Not the words, not the spell, but the outcome.”

Kurt shakes his head, feeling defeated before he begins, but raises his wand to give the spell a try.

“ _Orchi_ \---“

Blaine immediately clamps a hand over Kurt’s mouth.

“Kurt, non-verbal spells are supposed to be performed in your head. That’s why they’re called _non-verbal_.” Blaine removes his hand from Kurt’s mouth, noticing how splotches of pink have formed on his cheeks, outlining the shape of Blaine’s fingers. “We don’t need another orc running around here wreaking havoc, so concentrate.”

Kurt nods, ready to try again. He clenches his teeth tight, but his lips flutter around the words he’s fighting not to speak.

“Now, see, you’re moving your lips,” Blaine points out. “Against an expert opponent, you’ll give yourself away.”

“The movement of my wand will give me away. What does it matter if my lips move?”

“It matters, Kurt,” Blaine says firmly. He doesn’t want to argue. That’s not why he asked Kurt to stay behind.

“Well, maybe casting non-verbal spells isn’t my thing. Why do I need to learn it anyway?”

“You’re studying to become an Auror, aren’t you? Casting non-verbal spells will absolutely be essential for you. You can do it, Kurt. It just takes a hair more concentration than you’re giving.”

“I’m concentrating as hard as I can,” Kurt says, speaking mostly between clenched teeth. “It’s not that simple.”

“I know, I know. So forget about the words, and start by imagining what the spell will do when you cast it. Visualize it flowing from your wand. Picture the end result, and make it real.”

Kurt lets Blaine’s words seep into his head, absorbing their meaning while simultaneously trying to ignore the fact that Blaine is close - after so much time apart, _so_ close - his breath tickling Kurt’s ear, the sweet smell of chamomile tea and peppermint clinging to the air around him. Blaine standing next to Kurt is not something that he can easily ignore. He knows he’s going to mess up with Blaine there, but he can’t bear to ask him to back up. Kurt takes a few deep breaths, doing what Blaine suggested, visualizing an outcome, imagining the spell casting, letting go of the words and focusing on the flowers. Without thinking, he opens his mouth to speak the spell.

Kurt feels a mouth on his – soft, familiar lips pressing against his, the flavor of tea and peppermint suddenly on his tongue. A hand to the back of his head joins it, pulling him close, urging him,  _begging_  him to kiss back.

And Kurt does. Even if he wanted to fight, he can’t. He’s missed this since Blaine’s been gone – stealing kisses in the vacant corridors of the castle, long nights up studying in the Slytherin dungeon or Ravenclaw tower, eating breakfast together in the morning and sharing dessert together at night. When Blaine left Hogwarts with an invitation to work at the Ministry, Kurt was sure that what they had, whatever it was, was over.

That their time together was just a fling to Blaine.

That he’d never see Blaine again.

After that, Kurt spent days sitting on the banks of the Black Lake, covering the water flowers that float on its surface with frost and watching them sink to the bottom.

Kurt feels the wand in his hand move, or maybe it’s his hand that’s shaking, but Kurt kisses Blaine deeper, and the air around them becomes overwhelmed by the fragrance of flowers. Kurt can’t nail down one single scent, especially with the smell of Blaine prevalent in his mind. But when they part, Kurt’s eyes dart down to his desk where a small garden of roses, carnations, peonies, lilies, and gardenias has sprung up on his parchment.

“See that?” Blaine whispers, kissing Kurt one more time on his closed mouth. “You can do it. You are capable of incredible magic.”

“Only because you kissed me.” Kurt laughs wryly, raising a hand to touch his lips. “I think the magic belongs to you.”

“No.” Blaine runs a thumb along Kurt’s cheekbone. “It belongs to _you_ , and only you. You are a fantastic wizard, Kurt, but you’re also a remarkable person. Always remember that.”

Kurt nods and in the process, leans his head forward and rests his forehead against Blaine’s.

“I’ll try. But it’s a little harder than you make it sound.”

“I know,” Blaine says. “But you’re also such a cynic, and you really shouldn’t be. I know things are rough right now, but there is still so much wonder in the world. And when you find it, you’ll be amazed at how magical it can be. Just open yourself up to the possibilities.”

Kurt pinches his lips together in a thin line. He should stop the conversation here, or kiss Blaine again. There’s nothing else past that kiss that Kurt needs to know. But so much was left unsaid when Blaine left, and Kurt wants a little more assurance this time, in case Blaine up and goes again.

Kurt steels himself, taking in a breath that trembles.

“Can I ask you a question?” he says, staring at the flowers on his desk.

“Sure.” Blaine maintains his close proximity to Kurt, reluctant to move even an inch away. “Anything.”

“Is there a chance” – Kurt swallows, praying for some courage to come along so he can get the rest of his question out – “that maybe you came back here, even a little bit … for me?”

Kurt lifts a hopeful gaze to meet Blaine’s, and Blaine kisses him again – a more tender kiss than the first, but also more possessive. He doesn’t want Kurt to think that his reasons for leaving in any way outweigh his reasons for coming back. And now that he _is_ back, he’s here to stay.

When Blaine leaves Kurt’s lips, there are tears in his eyes, waiting for a chance to be shed.

“Kurt,” he says, tracing the fine lines of Kurt’s face with his fingers, setting them a hundredth time to memory, “I had a dozen reasons for coming back. But you, by far, are the one that matters most.”

 


End file.
